


Where's the good in goodbye?

by Selena_Guardi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Goodbyes, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 17:34:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3986755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selena_Guardi/pseuds/Selena_Guardi





	Where's the good in goodbye?

"I'm coming!" Molly shouted annoyed towards the door while clumsily wrapping her dressing gown around her body.

It was barely even 4 am. Whoever was at the door better have a good excuse for waking her.

The bell rang again as she checked her reflection in the mirror in the hallway.

"Yeees!" she growled.

Sighing at how she looked - there simply wasn't any way to look good being woken up in the middle of the night - she attempted to smooth her hair down at least a bit and then went to the door.

"Do you have any idea what time it -" she started, stopping short when she saw the familiar face in front of her.

"Sherlock? What are you doing here? And why did you wake me? I know I said you could use the bell sometimes instead of letting yourself in, but I certainly didn't mean in the middle of the night!"

Putting her hands on her hips she stared up at him waiting for an explanation.

They hadn't seen each other since that "incident" at Bart's. That was how Molly referred to it in her mind on the rare occasions she let herself think about it. She still couldn't understand how he could have gone back to taking drugs, betraying his friends, betraying their trust. Betraying her. All those times he had ignored her, insulted her, all the cutting remarks, the disdainful looks, all those little things had become insignificant. No they hadn't hurt, not as much as that day had, that stab to her heart.

Yes, he had been in hospital, gunshot wound the report had said, but she hadn't visited. She had looked into his files, after all she had access to the hospital's system. She had known that he was all right, barely alive but she knew him, he would be back on his feet only too soon. And as if to prove her right he had discharged himself on the same day.  
And then Christmas had come and gone. No little get together at 221B, they had left for the country, Sherlock's parents' house. For Sherlock to fully recover, that's what Mary had told her, but Mary hadn't sounded quite right on the phone either. Molly hadn't dared to ask, it probably had been nothing, she didn't want to seem nosey. So Molly had not really celebrated, there wasn't much to celebrate anyway.

On New Year's Greg had called from what had sounded like a pub, he had been quite nice  and maybe a bit drunk, it had made her smile.  
She had contemplated a text, nothing much, just a simple Happy New Year but after staring at it for five minutes she had deleted it. Maybe this was for the best, maybe she needed that distance. Maybe she could forget him for a few days, maybe she could start the new year differently. But now there he was in the middle of the night, standing on her doorstep.

Expectantly she looked up at him, but nothing came, not one word. And now that Molly looked at him more closely, she noticed something different about him. There was something in his eyes, something that wasn't supposed to be there. She was used to him scanning her from head  to toe, she had even managed to not shrink away under his scrutinising gaze over the years. But this was different, the way his eyes bored into her was unsettling.

A bad feeling crept up inside her.

"Sherlock is everything all right?" she asked quietly. 

Nothing.

"What happened? Sherlock?"

He hadn't taken drugs again, so much was clear. His eyes were sharp, focused, there was nothing distracted in his gaze, he was right there. But somehow that wasn't really a reason for relief because whatever had happened seemed to be much worse.

"Sherlock? Do you want to come in?"

"Can't, car is waiting downstairs," he replied his voice unusually throaty.

"Oh... okay."

Molly looked to her feet for a moment, fidgeting with the band of her dressing gown.

"Sherlock, I don't know what happened but I'm sure -"

"Remember that day I asked you whether you would still want to help me if I wasn't everything you thought I was?"

Molly nodded, swallowing hard, pushing her fears back down. 

"And I still stand by my answer," she stated, trying for a little smile.

"Maybe you shouldn't."

"Sherlock, what has happened?"

For a second it looked like he would answer, opening his mouth but then deciding against it and closing it again. And in that instant sadness washed over his face, a sadness that felt like an icicle in her heart. Unconsciously Molly wrapped her dressing gown tighter around herself.

Controlling his features once again Sherlock straightened up a bit.

"Maybe I'm not the man you think I am."

"But that doesn't matter," Molly protested. 

"I'm afraid this time it does."

There was a long silence as he stared at his hands.

"I came to say goodbye."

The sentence seemed to echo down the empty and quiet hallway before Molly could comprehend its full meaning.

"You're going on another mission?"

It wasn't really a question. She knew the answer and still all she wanted was for him to say No, that one simple word. All she really wanted was for him to tell her that she wasn't right.  
But his silence and the look in his eyes was answer enough.

"Do you know when you are coming back?"

She wasn't going to let him walk away just like that; like he had done the last time. She didn't know if she could handle it a second time, the fear, the uncertainty.

As she was yet again met with silence, she repeated her question.

"Do you... know when you are coming back?"

But just as the last word left her lips it dawned on her. Suddenly it all made sense, his behaviour, why he was there in the first place, it all seemed to fall into place.

Covering her mouth with her hand she whispered what she didn't quite want to believe herself.

"You're not coming back, are you?"

Molly felt dizzy, this wasn't happening. She felt like she was falling, like the world had just slowed down, moving in slow motion around them.

"I'm sorry," he said his voice breaking. 

There were no words, she had no answer. Nothing felt like it would do her thoughts justice. Somehow she had forgotten how to communicate, how to express herself. Opening her mouth seemed to be impossible, a weight pulling her down, pressing on her lungs, making it hard to breathe. But she couldn't say a thing, she couldn't even look at him. All those thoughts, and pleas, and desperate words, all screaming in her head at once, but none of them came out.

Instead the two of them just stood there in silence, the heaviness of the situation almost palpable. 

With a start she realised that her cheeks felt wet, she hadn't noticed when she had started crying. Wiping at her face with the back of her hand she tried to stop without much success. 

Keeping her gaze fixed on the floor, she first thought she was imagining things when she felt his hand gingerly reaching for hers, his fingertips barely touching her, grazing against the back of her hand. Inhaling sharply she closed her eyes, feeling his hand close around hers. How warm it was. She had always imagined his hands to be cold, heaven knew why. As he stepped closer, she finally dared to look up again finding those sea green eyes staring down at her, filled with sorrow. 

"Molly, I... " he started his voice rough.

"It's ok," she told him although nothing actually was.

Maybe she wasn't only reassuring him, maybe she was talking to herself as well.

There was another moment of silence as they stared at each other. He seemed to study her face as if he was memorising it, maybe he was. Letting go of her hand he reached up, cradling her cheek, wiping a tear away with his thumb.

"Molly," he whispered leaning in closer, "I'm sorry I never quite was the man you needed me to be."

His face only inches from hers, Molly swallowed hard as she saw his eyes dart to her lips for a second. Afraid to move she simply looked up at him. He seemed to be just as unsure as she felt herself.

"Forgive me," he murmured before finally closing the distance between them.

She closed her eyes again when his lips touched hers, not passionate, not eager, gentle, shy even. The ghost of a kiss, and still she knew she would remember it all her life. When he pulled back she kept her eyes shut, savouring the moment. She knew it would be over only too soon.

And as if to prove her right the corridor was empty when she opened her eyes again. 


End file.
